WHO: Charlie and Rae. WHAT: The inevitable smackdown. WHERE: Liberty Island, Charlie's makeshift shooting range. WHEN: Sunday, January 29th, evening. RATING: High for language and girl-on-girl violence. STATUS: In progress.
It had been a hell of a day. A stressful, frustrating day that had started when she woke up at six AM and hadn't given her a reprieve. First, there had been all the bullcrap the night before with Marchand and his sister-- something that had hit her a little too close to the heart. It pissed her off that apparently Evan's little sister thought that his happiness meant he'd leave her, yes, but there was something deeper. Her little brother would have probably reacted the same way, and something that reminded her so much of what she'd lost made her heart hurt and her sleep restless. By the time she'd gotten to the first class she had to teach, her mood had been irrevocably set at 'foul'.
Then there were her "students", if Charlie could call them that. By the end of her 8 AM basic safety class, she'd questioned her own sanity for even agreeing to do this. There were some people that made her wonder if they'd ever even seen a gun outside of television. One guy had thought it funny to hold his gun in a sideways "thug" fashion after she'd spent at least twenty minutes explaining why holding a firearm in the proper, two-handed, arms-extended grip was important for aim and bracing against kickback. So she'd taken the opportunity to demonstrate how it was impossible to look down the sight with a side-grip by aiming her own pistol at the man. The man had gotten visibly upset, bursting into frightened tears, to which Charlie responded by telling him exactly how much she cared about him and his 'ordeal', and if he didn't like it, he could go take lessons from the stripper rather than the former SWAT agent.
The man had left, much to her satisfaction.
The rest of the day had been filled with much of the same, though she managed to keep most of the nuggets in line. Sure, she frightened them, yelled at them, maybe even insulted them, but that was just how she operated. At the end of the day, they were learning, and by putting the fear of God into the idiots, people were less likely to get hurt. Touchy-feely bullshit, in her opinion, made people sloppy and complacent. If you congratulated someone for putting their goddamn pants on in the morning, what the fuck made a 'good job' when they hit a target special? Compliments from Charlie were rare gems, and when she said them, she meant them.
As Charlie swept up the shell casings along the shooting range (had to keep things clean, after all), all she could think about was how much she wanted a drink to help her deal with all this crap. Unfortunately, she had another class to teach tomorrow and teaching with a hangover? That was probably pretty high on the list of 'worst ideas of the century'. If she wanted to avoid pistol-whipping some of her less-intelligent nuggets, she had to stay sober until she left. Plus, if Princess Sunshine McBitchycakes actually found her balls and decided to come at her, she wanted to be as clear-headed and ready as she could be. It was inevitable, really, if Leah was to be trusted-- Alghren liked to have the last word. The only reason Charlie hadn't sought out the little bitch was because it would be that much more satisfying to know that little miss moral high-ground actually "stooped to her level" and started the fight. If-- no, when the explosion happened? Well. Kicking the ass of the uppity stripper was something she wanted to remember for the rest of her goddamn life.